Melissa was a shy college girl with a secret desire. She loved to be looked at, loved to be wanted. Unable to help herself, she begins running around the campus at night, naked but for a mask. She masturbates in front of her sleeping roommate, and poses before her window. When she finds a pair of men watching her masturbating one night the lid comes off, and her sexual desires become unquenchable. Soon she is posing for nasty photos, then videos, and then the kinky co-ed is doing live sex shows on weekends and being gang-banged by frat boys during the week. But when she streaks the football game and masturbates in front of the crowd her college life will come to a screaming end.

Melissa had always been aware of just how beautiful she was. Even before she'd hit puberty, even when she was still a flat chested girl, her sweet, delicate face with its
full soft lips and tiny snub nose, her big, wide, bright blue eyes, and thick, golden hair, drew glances from men that were far from paternal.
Then, when her hips started to round and her young breasts started to swell outward, she got more and more second and third glances, and eyes started following her bottom
everywhere it went. It turned her on, made her incredibly horny. Just the knowledge, as she walked down the street in her frilly white dress, that male eyes were glued to her
tightly rounded buttocks, made her pussy hot and wet.
As she grew older she learned to expect the propositions, the lewd glances and occasional grope from horny men hot for her sweetly nubile flesh. She never learned how to deal
with them, however, and it made her frightfully shy and withdrawn.
In a way, she was proud of herself, proud that she was so beautiful.
Her face and hair were as gorgeous and sweet as when she'd been a child, and now she had a curvy, hourglass figure with nice plump buttocks and a teensy waist, big round,
firm breasts with fat pink nipples that stuck out hard and thin when she got excited, and flawless, white legs that all the other girls envied.
No one saw any of this other than herself and the girls in her gym class who showered with her. She had no dates. When approached by boys she would stutter and shake and
blush furiously. No boy got to feel her plump breasts or her soft round bottom. No boy kissed her nor even held her hand.
Of course she did masturbate... a LOT! She masturbated every morning, most evenings, and every night, and sometimes in the afternoon too if she was home. She used her
fingers, a dildo, and a vibrator, often doing it in front of a big mirror so she could watch herself.
No dating got her good grades, and she wasn't unhappy to graduate a year early, going on to University on a scholarship. She didn't know what she wanted to take at college,
but she knew she wanted to get away from her home, away from the stifling life at high school, and hopefully, away from the fear of doing anything about the hot little oven between
her legs.
She wanted to kick up her heels and fuck everyone in sight at college. And still, she found herself repressed, unable to talk intelligible words when a cute guy came around.
It made her furious at herself, but she couldn't help it.
She fantasised about showing off her wonderful body to a boy, a man, or many, many men. She dreamed of being naked in front of the football stands crowded with men. She
thought about letting boys put their hands up her skirt and down her sweater, of boys fucking her, cumming inside her.
She felt blah, bored, frustrated, and wondered whether she was doomed to remain a virginal old maid. She knew she should, and could meet boys easily, but couldn't force
herself to do it, couldn't let herself be comfortable in their company.
And then, one night, something happened to change her life forever. She was studying, or rather, she'd just finished studying.
She was in the bedroom she shared with a redhead called, Sharon, on the second floor of the Betsy Ross female dormitory building. She was wearing a pair of jeans and a
sweatshirt.
She put her books away. Sharon wasn't home yet from her date, which annoyed her a bit. Melissa liked to undress when she was in the room. Having a girl see her naked wasn't
as good as having a bunch of guys hungering after her body but it helped a bit. It made her feel proud, and excited.
She sat on the edge of her bed and undid her shoes, then slipped her socks off one at a time. Her thick blonde hair fell down around her face as she bent over and she threw
her head back, tossing her hair behind her. She sighed and sat back on the bed for a moment, her hands behind her head.
Her legs parted widely, and she imagined a boy was about to lay between them. She looked down her body, between the mounds of her breasts to her jeans, and the tight
star-like crease that centered on her groin. She slid her hands down, cupped her pussy once, then popped the catch and slid the zipper down.
She sat up, then stood up and walked around to the full length mirror on the wall. She liked to see herself undress, to see the revelation of her soft white flesh, to pretend
other eyes were on her. It made her hot, and made faster a necessary function before bedtime.
That was masturbating.
She'd long ago learned that if she didn't masturbate before bed, her mind would turn to sexual thoughts, her body would heat up, and her hands would inexorably creep towards
her groin and began to fondle herself. It was much better, no matter how little time she had, to get it over with at once.
So she stood before the mirror and her arms crossed in front of her as her hands gripped the bottom of her sweat shirt and lifted it high. She pulled it off and tossed it on
a chair, then slid her hands down to her jeans. She slid them slowly downward, wiggling her hips from side to side as she watched her image.
She was wearing, as always, lacy lingerie. Tonight it was a matching pair of delicate, pink undies. A sweet little french bra and thong. She let her jeans slide down slowly,
revealing her thong, then let them drop to her knees and pool around her ankles. She stepped out of them, then moved back slightly to admire herself.
Narcissist, she accused. Well, she was, she supposed. She knew her body was beautiful because all the men thought so. She'd surreptitiously been watching them watch her for
years now. It made her skin tingle and her pussy burn at the same time as it made her blush furiously when men stared at her body.
Still, she enjoyed it.
She enjoyed the sight of her body too, admired the sight of a beautiful naked woman, even if it was herself. She'd checked out the men's magazines in corner stores, where
nobody could see her. She wanted to see what other women looked like naked, whether they were prettier than her.
She hadn't been disappointed. She seldom found a girl in those fantasy magazines with a body or a face as good as hers, and never one with a face AND a body as good as hers.
She knew she could be in the magazines, and that was one of her favorite masturbation fantasies, herself posing for a magazine like that.
Now she posed in the mirror, posed for herself, and for the men who she imagined watched her. She felt her breasts throbbing, swelling as her loins warmed and her skin began
to tingle with lust. She pushed her chest out at the mirror, angling her hips and sliding her hands up and down the sides of her body.
She made sexy faces at the mirror, pouting, or sliding her tongue over her lips, narrowing her eyes and trying to give off a sensuous, sophisticated look. She wasn't sure she
succeeded. Anyway, it was the thought that counted here.
She cupped her breasts, sliding her hands under the firm mounds, pressing against her thin, lacy bra, then letting her fingers caress her chest, feel the individual ribs as
they slid down onto her smooth, flat belly.
She unsnapped her bra and slid it off, admiring the firmness of her breasts, which didn't drop at all, not even an inch. Two hard, round balls of soft, warm flesh they were,
high on her chest and sticking straight out like she were wearing an invisible bra.
Again she cupped her breasts, letting her fingers sink into the malleable flesh a little, bracketing her nipples between her fingers and kind of squeezing on the little
buds.
She turned sideways, admiring her silhouette, taking her hands away and putting them above her head, arching her back as she pushed her chest and bottom out at once. She felt
an itch between her legs at the sight, felt her pussy starting to burn bright.
She padded to the shelf which held Sharon's stereo and turned it on, then moved back before the mirror. The music filled the room and she began to dance sensuously to it,
wriggling her hips from side to side, sliding her hands up and down her nearly nude body, shaking her head, and her long thick blonde hair.
She had two dances, depending on whether the music was fast or slow. If it was slow she danced slowly, sensuously, her hands moving over her body, teasing, taunting, posing.
If it was fast then she moved fast, shaking her hips, jiggling her breasts, sometimes bending over and letting them swing from side to side, or making them bounce up and down,
letting her body undulate in time to the music.
Now the music was slow, and she preened for herself, admiring what she saw, getting excited by the images crowding into her head as she displayed herself, modelling her own
flesh for the appreciation of men unseen, unknown.
She could see, even if she couldn't feel, that her nipples were now very hard. As small and pink as they were normally, now they were hard and long and bulged thickly. She
seized them between thumb and forefingers, rubbing, pinching, squeezing, twisting until they ached and burned.
She opened her hands wide then, trying to encompass all her thick wide mammary meat, then closed them, closed them tight, squeezing her fingers into the flesh, distorting the
perfect round shapes as she dug deep furrows in the meat, mashing it out between her fingers.
She turned her back to the mirror, her hands sliding down her hips and onto her backside, rubbing her soft bottom. She tugged on her thong, jerking the back of it up, pulling
hard so the front snugged up between her pussy lips.
She sighed in pleasure, and began rubbing the panties up and down against her clit. Her pussy burned hotter and brighter, her panties becoming wet with her own juices . She
closed her eyes briefly, then slid her panties down and off.
Again she posed and preened for herself, admiring her hips and bottom and small, neat little bush, the tight little slit sticking out easily in the tiny tangled nest of
golden curls.
She pulled a straight backed chair over before the mirror and sat down, facing the glass. She spread her legs wide, her hands running up and down her body, then sliding down
between her thighs. She fingered her clit, then began rubbing up and down the entire slit, letting her finger press inward just a little.
She slid her left hand up and down her stomach and chest, fingering her nipples and squeezing her breasts as her other hand stroked her clit. She rolled her head slowly, her
breathing getting ragged as her body became more and more excited.
She spread her legs wider still, leaning back as she began to feel her belly churn and swirl with lust. She gasped and moaned, a finger now working its way down into her
pussy tunnel as her bottom started to rub and grind against the hard wooden seat.
And then, as her glazed eyes stared into the mirror, she saw something besides her own luscious body, she saw, over her shoulder, the window, and two faces peering into
it.
At first her mind didn't process the information, it was too busy with other things, other sensations. She saw the faces, but they didn't register. She continued to hump
against her fingers, two of which were now buried inside her oiling slit tunnel.
The hot, throbbing meat of her breasts were pushing hard against the thin layer of skin which surrounded them, and every time she arched her back she felt the meat, like hard
round balls, threatening to rip free of the confinement. Her nipples were two hard, sharp little burning needles at the center of her breasts, digging into her skin, into her
flesh, hot and tingling with energy.
Slowly it registered that there were people watching her, but still, the thought of that did not concern her, but the import hadn't really sunk in. She continued to hump,
continued to squeeze, continued to finger and stroke.
Her eyes were glazed, focusing and unfocusing at irregular intervals. Her breathing was ragged and loud.
Then... as if in a daze, her eyes focused on the faces in her window, and it registered at last, that people, that boys, that men were watching her, excited men from the look
of their faces.
Five minutes earlier she would have screamed and covered herself. Now she was helpless. She had reached the point just before orgasm when nothing else matters, when dragging
her body just that extra little bit up the incline, that tiny, teensy little rise, was all that mattered in the world.
Her eyes locked onto the corner of her mirror where the faces were, and she continued to masturbate, her fingers now pumping furiously in her wet, hot little tunnel. She was
twisting and writhing on the chair, her legs wide apart as she leaned back.
And then she came. She came with those faces staring at her, with the knowledge that she wasn't pretending, that there really were men watching her, just outside her window,
real men, men who were probably eager to fuck her, to use her, men with hard cocks who wanted to push them into her pussy, wanted to make her suck them.
She stared, and she came, and she stared, and the thought and the sight, did more than pull her the extra little bit to the top of the mountain. The knowledge that they were
watching, the sight of them watching, threw her upwards like a rocket was strapped to her senses. She blasted off the edge of the cliff and kept going, higher, higher, higher
still.
She grunted, small sounds, for the breath was locked inside her chest. She arched her back, harder and harder, her body stiff, trembling violently, a searing maelstrom
surrounding it, lightning crackling along exposed nerve endings, rippling up and down her spine, rolling and surging through her veins.
She felt like her skin had turned inside out. Her pussy was a furnace and its spasming, rolling waves of sexual ecstasy were pouring into her body, and having the same effect
as water on live wires. She'd never felt an orgasm so intense, or so prolonged.
That part of her mind that still thought, that still had any sense, any thinking ability, knew a fleeting fear, a fear that she was hurting herself, that her body was being
harmed by the magnitude of the orgasm, and its shaking, trembling, arching.
Her neck ground against the top of the chair back as her legs spread wider still, the tendons in her thighs aching fiercely, adding their own heat to the sensations shooting
out of her groin.
She stared at the faces as long as she could. Then, she could look now more. Her eyes closed as she arched even harder, her legs pushing her bottom off the chair, all her
weight on her neck and her feet as she bowed upward.
Then the orgasm passed, finally, irrevocably. No matter how had she tried to hold onto it. With an explosive gasp she dropped back to the chair, her chest heaving now as she
gulped in deep breaths of air. She was dazed from lack of oxygen, and her body was throbbing with the afterimage of the flashfire of sensations that had exploded within her.
She slumped in the chair, arms hanging limp at her sides, head fallen back across the top of the seat back, eyes closed, mouth open wide.
And only then, after many seconds, did her frazzled mind bring up the significance and meaning of the faces in the mirror. It hit her like a sledge hammer. She jerked
forward, then stumbled to her knees before the chair. She rose, again, staggering through the door into the bathroom.
She fell against the counter, then sat heavily on the toilet, her mind still dazed by her powerful orgasm, her body weak from the intensity of the physical power it had taken
from her.
And now she blushed hotly, humiliated, horrified even that her... her... that somebody had seen her doing... that. People had seen her naked! They had watched her masturbate!
They had not only seen her bare bottom, her naked breasts and her furry pussy, they had seen her grinding her bottom, squeezing her breasts and finger fucking her slit!
How could she ever face them? Who were they? How much had they seen? Would they tell everyone? Did they know who she was? Maybe she'd never see them again. Maybe they were
complete strangers, not even members of the campus community.
She wondered if they were still there, still peeking in her window. But she didn't dare to look. She stayed huddled in the bathroom until Sharon finally got home and knocked
on the door. Only then did she wrap a towel around herself and, with great trepidation, open the door and walk out into the bedroom.
She looked at the window first thing, her skin red with mortification, but they weren't there. They were gone. She felt herself breath again, then moved over and closed the
curtains, jerking on the cord so hard she almost pulled the curtains down.
Sharon didn't notice. Drunk, she'd hurried into the bathroom and closed the door. Melissa slipped beneath her covers and pulled them up to her chin, wide eyes staring at the
window.
She tried to imagine, to think of what they had seen, of what they had thought of her. She groaned and covered her face with her hands. How could she go on here? How could
she keep going to classes, keep living here, wondering whether they were out there watching her, right within sight. She couldn't bear to think of them maybe being in one of the
classes, or even sitting on the grass as she walked by.
Never in her life had she been so mortified! What would she say when confronted, when everyone heard? Surely what she did was normal, she tried to say to herself. It didn't
help. It didn't matter that everyone did it. It would still make a great story for the boys and a terrible, unbearable humiliation for her.
And yet... despite the humiliation there was something... something there that felt good, that felt, kind of... excited. In a sexual way, she was extremely gratified. It had
been a huge turn on, a tremendously arousing stimulus.
In her mind's eye she watched the two strangers as they watched her. She saw herself masturbating in the mirror, saw everything from across the room, from outside the... she
cringed anew, the open window. They had seen AND heard her, heard her groans and gurgles and grunts and moans.
OH, how could she survive such humiliation!? How could she go on here? She wanted to run, to get away where nobody knew, where nobody who could have seen her would be.
And how would she explain that? Two boys saw me masturbating so I'm dropping out of college? Everyone would think her mad to quit over such a trifle. Not that she would ever
tell them that, would ever tell anyone that.
To admit she masturbated!